


Sollicitude

by TheDarkFlygon



Series: From the Inside [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: (entirely platonic you fucks), (slight but it's still there), Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asthma, Asthma Attacks, Blood Loss, College, France (Country), Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Overworking, POV First Person, POV Multiple, Platonic Relationships, Pneumonia, Recovery, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Sequel, Sick Character, Sickfic, Sleep Deprivation, Substitution, Teacher-Student Relationship, Unrevealed Blood Diseases, Whump, loss of consciousness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 10:40:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12862797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkFlygon/pseuds/TheDarkFlygon
Summary: Sollicitude (substantive fem.): French for "solicitude". An affectionate attention, worry, care.This isn't your average teacher substitution, far from it. There is both a direct and indirect link between the substituting and the substituted, all because of a student who got herself involved beyond her will and fell into the rabbit hole of self-doubts and lies to oneself.It's not that Justine doesn't want to play Mercury, or that François doesn't want to substitute, or that Florian doesn't think having his workmate substitute for him is necessary.It's just that they all think the situation is wrong in some way and can only half-trust people ready to do anything unreasonable if it means helping other people out.You can never really trust someone altruistic with their own life.





	1. My Duty

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to Magistrismorbulogy, which you need to read before reading this one if you want to understand the events of Sollicitude.  
> It's also advised you pretty much ignore the fact those are literature students with other subjects on the side simply because what Justine and Co study isnt the main focus at all. Sure, they'll reference to authors from time to time, but as long as you can Google Lamartine and Victor Hugo, you'll be fine, really. I'm not writing fics to write my lessons yet again.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> François has a new duty he has pros and cons with.

I never saw myself as the best substitute that ever was. Hell, I used to think for the longest time I was better substituted for, mainly because I was young, unexperimented and, just like any young unexperimented teacher who had ever been, I was really lost. My career had just been just rocky shore after rocky shore when I landed at Chromas and became a CPGE teacher.

So I entered this school in 2016 and met with new workmates: Elise who was short and insanely kind, Elodie who kept telling me she was around my age (she was actually over five years older than me), Arnaud who remained distant, Jean-Paul who preferred hanging with the ECE workmates, Jacques who was _exactly_ the old bitter man he seemed to be, Laurent who was already speaking to me like we had been friends for years, Raphaël who was the biggest narcoleptic only to wake up one day and start winking at me and make dad jokes…

…and there was Florian.

 

Florian Moinot, the former teacher for the hypokhâgnes and the current one for the khâgnes now that a former workmate, who Elodie spent her time insulting, had left for Douai. We didn’t have much occasions to speak to each other, as we didn’t even share most of our respective students except for the second-year Modern Literature specialists. He seemed to know all of them by heart; I couldn’t even remember their names until the fall break.

He seemed to be everything I hated about having studied in Paris for years: he seemed way too posh, forced, artificial and downright haughty for me to grew a liking in him. I had been weary of those guys for the longest time: even someone who only lived for a few months in Paris could you that kind of person was to be avoided at all costs.

 

I only truly got to know Florian after his son’s birth, in late 2016. Somehow, he grew a fondling in me before I did and soon enough people joked about us being like father and son. He was really reassuring to be around. It may had been his round face, or the fact he reminded me a little of an uncle I hadn’t seen in years. I didn’t know why, but I enjoyed having someone I trusted entirely inside the teacher team, as I knew Elodie was a goddamn gossiper by that point.

He seemed invincible, like nothing could tear him away from his work. He had hesitated between taking a parental leave for his son or remain all along with his students, but he chose the first option and only after asking his students if it was all right for him to do so. Then I took command for his class and… I absolutely hated it.

 

I didn’t hate the khâgnes, of course. They were wise and clever students, and I liked the Modern Literature specialists. However, giving me such a class to deal with at the end of April, right before their exam, while I also had to deal with the hypokhâgnes made me sick. Sick of having to be two players at once, dealing with lingering misunderstandings and literally sick. I wound up in bed for a good three days after the whole ordeal was over.

I could at least tell myself this was a very special occasion, a once-in-a-lifetime (okay, maybe twice, it depended on whether he wanted to have more kids or not) thing that would never happen again.

Then I received this mail from Justine Lhotar.

 

In one single evening, I realized my entire week was going to be vastly different. As I expected from her, she had apologized countless time in her email. However, no amount of “sorry” could help me deal with the tremendous task of substituting for Florian yet again, this time with no holidays waiting for me at the end. And this time around, it was closer to a bet than anything else. The blind trust he had in me was tremendous.

I had to admit the cold truth: I was the only one remotely capable of doing so and I couldn’t throw the khâgnes under the bus just because I hated substituting the first time around. I tried to cheer me up by thinking I knew all these students already, as I had been their teacher on the previous year, but it still didn’t make my worries go away. I feared failing, and while that was so hypocritical of mine to tell a scared-of-failure student it was a ridiculous phobia to have there, I could feel it boiling in my veins.

So that was what Justine had felt like when she had told me she was downright terrified of failing… This felt just wrong and nauseating. I hated it when my heartbeats went insane. That terrified me too.

 

Florian had left a small note just for me, which Justine had sent swearing she had not opened the file. Even if she was a curious individual asking some armour-piercing questions from time to time, she was someone I personally trusted not to do this kind of indiscreet stuff. The simple name file could only mean he had written it in a hurry.

I expected a ton of mistakes, I really did. Justine had sent me a second mail to make me catch up on the entire story from her own point of view, since she feared her current teacher could be downgrading his condition or the events that lead to where we were. I couldn’t really blame her, as I had expected him to call for me if he felt this ill, but he hadn’t. No wonder why she didn’t fully trust him on that matter.

 

I started work as early as I could on this, as I knew I had to be quick. Their first class with me was on Tuesday: I only had one day and a half to prepare myself for it, as I had orals with the first years on the Monday afternoon.

Florian’s heavily prepared classes should had been a blessing: they were a curse. He was really structured, and it was amazing to see such a fine organization and planning of his classes. However, I didn’t share this manner of structuring classes and I had to slip my feet in his shoes if I didn’t want to spend the ages I didn’t have on even knowing what to say for the two following weeks. I only had to trust a tiny bit in myself and pray my former students would be understanding of the situation.

 

Only then did I even remember Florian’s note to me. I opened the Word document, only to be faced with something like three pages of pure text. He had skipped some lines (thank goodness) but it was still far longer than I had expected him to be able to type. I could only think Annabelle corrected it for him before sending the file to me. This was the only reasonable explanation as to how this was even possible when Justine was telling me about feverish nonsense and delirium speeches with no clear designated receiver, except for a hallucinatory “Juliette” who seemed to be her own person and not just a miscalled Justine.

 

The note was mostly composed of reasons as to why I had to carry the project forward for him. It wasn’t for his stake but his students, no, _our_ students. He did apologize in it a lot too, which wasn’t surprising either, as he would never admit it but he said “sorry” for a yes or for a no. He felt immensely bad for letting himself get that sick and having to entrust me with students I wasn’t supposed to deal with anymore.

While I got behind his reasons as to why I was left doing his work, I absolutely didn’t get why he dug his own grave on this. Why continue pushing himself so badly when he knew he was getting seriously sick? I got his intentions, of course (it would be very hypocritical of me not to do so), but at the same time… It seemed downright paradoxical.

 

If there was someone asking their students and workmates to be cautious about their health, it was Florian. The guy liked to remind his students that they had to sleep eight hours a night, to take breaks whenever they felt like they needed one, not to get overzealous nor push themselves too far, etc., etc. I even got a “the reason your health habits suck” speech from him when I came down with a powerful strain of flu last year.

Except Florian didn’t apply even the half of these himself. He didn’t sleep eight hours a night, he didn’t take many breaks, tended to get overzealous about his text anthologies, pushed himself to exhaustion more than once a year, the list went on. I always wondered why he was like that: if he was so careful about everybody else’s health, why wasn’t he terrified of falling ill?

 

Of course, learning that Florian was sick worried me tremendously, because I had even imagined him being able to be sick. I only got terrified beyond my own mind when Justine mentioned it seemed like he had somewhat collapsed, since he was first exhausted then ill. I didn’t know what being a _khâgne_ teacher really was like, since I could reuse some lessons from the previous year when he couldn’t, and as soon as I learnt that, a lump formed in my throat and my blood itched.

The note didn’t mention any of it, however. It just mentioned he was very sick, and couldn’t make class for something like two weeks because he had recovery time imposed to him. Told me I didn’t have to worry about the essays done on the day he had collapsed: he would correct them while on recovery. Someone didn’t get what “recovery” meant but, to be honest, neither did I.

 

In this letter, he mentioned Justine quite a lot, almost as much as he spoke about the class in general and the specialists combined. She had gotten such an impact on him for taking care of him after everyone else had left the room, sacrificing an evening to bring him home and simply reassuring him after what he had done and how weak he felt. I didn’t think it had been such a bother for the girl, even if I had to admit she had been incredibly helpful. I mostly wondered where in the world the cowardly Justine the courage to do all of this when her teacher was taller than her, older than her and had power over her.

He talked about how personal they had been on that fateful night, and how they basically had to ignore most of their teacher-student relations to get the situation across. He advised me to do so with her as long as she played her “messager” role, and as a student when she was in class or had an oral with me. I didn’t like the idea of playing on both fields, especially as I was far more used to the first instance by this point, but I would do it if it meant helping out someone I genuinely admired and people I felt responsible for.

 

I felt as if they needed me, suddenly, as if we were back to the previous year. I was their teacher again, I would see them all in front of me again. Sure, they weren’t my students anymore and their lessons weren’t mine (these were far better), yet it still felt like a blast from the past, something I would had never hoped for happening in front of my eyes.

This way different from April. I knew them and I had grown fond of them. Sure, they weren’t the best students (quite the contrary, actually, for _hypokhâgnes_ ) but for most of them, they were brave kids I just had to defend against purely negative visions my workmates would sometime give of them. They were nothing exceptional, but there was something special to me: they had been my very first real students, whom got to know me for who I was on top of my weekly lessons.

 

Then I realized I was just like him. I was ready to do so much for them. Any worry for my state of mind, my now overfilled schedule or the potential health degrading which could ensue if I wasn’t careful flew out the window. I was ready to do so much for them, my students and for him, my workmate, no, my friend.

Justine’s note seemed so stale, some pointless worries, as if I was going to limit myself for my own sake when I could fully use my resources for class, including herself. That girl had always been too curious for her own good, she needed to reconsider what her mind was focusing on before she would get involved in business way, way over her head.

 

I tried to become Florian while ignoring what it had lead him to.


	2. Pain and Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fever helps Florian think back on what happened, but that's before François happens, with the help of his wife.

A light knock at my door and some gentle footsteps woke me up from a dreamless sleep. For a few seconds, I felt perfectly fine, until a burning pain declared itself in my lungs and caused me to cough loudly. I had almost forgotten I was sick and bedridden, something my heavy-as-lead muscles proceeded to remind me of as soon as I attempted to lay on my back again.

“Are you awake, darling?” asked the sweet voice of my wife, a tray in her hands.

 

After rubbing my eyes, trying to get the blurry out of them, I simply told her “yes”. The cough didn’t want to go away in the slightest. She sat on the empty part of the bed, putting the tray between her and me.

“You still sound awful, oh my…” she commented, putting a hand on her forehead then on mine. The familiar gesture was as soothing as ever. “And your fever has not broken yet…”

Even if she was worried, Annabelle still smiled at me, even as she asked me to open my mouth to put the thermometer inside. Her hand cupped my unshaved beard.

“I am sorry, I will not be able to take care of you as much as I would have wanted to today. My parents are coming to Lille today and I could not bring myself to cancel our lunch together. I will check up on you regularly.”

She took the small stick back and whispered to herself “forty point one”.

 

I forced myself to sit up, fully knowing I had to eat if I wanted to get any better anytime soon. The simple act of sitting up made my cough a hundred times worse, not an enormous deal anymore. She simply put a supportive hand on my shoulder while I was busy gently tapping my chest into stopping acting up so violently. Once the ordeal was over, she left a gentle kiss on my right cheek.

“You’re gonna get sick…” I croaked out, coughing again.

“I am not going to be ill because of one little kiss. I know you must not be very hungry at the moment, so the trail is composed of light foods and your medicine. I left Dr Menkën’s instructions next to them, which I have copied so it was easier for you to read. I will check up on you in an hour.”

She replaced the warm, drenched in sweat washcloth on my forehead with a new, fresh and clean one, before she put the bucket right next to me. Annabelle left with a last sweet smile to me and closed the door behind her, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my fever.

 

My chest still deeply hurt. For once, the burning didn’t come from my operation scars, which had been closed for years yet remained as to remind me of my past, but from the inside My lungs were still drowning while I was wheezing instead of breathing. The lack of air made me naturally lightheaded as phlegm regularly got out of my mouth.

I had never been this sick in my entire life. I had gone through the seasonal colds, anginas, influenzae, even bronchitis once; none of those could prepare me for pneumonia. The feeling of breathlessness despite one’s best efforts was simply horrible. I should had been far more careful to myself, even if something told me going to Chromas on the previous Friday wasn’t the reason why I was so ill. This hadn’t happened suddenly out of the blue one day.

 

I was restrained to bed, all on my own, with only some books and my laptop next to me. A part of me thought about continuing working on my classes while I was at it; I had to reason myself out of it because I really didn’t want to read Lamartine while I was already struggling with air and a headache.

I spotted, right next to me and plugged to the wall, my mobile phone. Thinking my mind was clear enough to allow me to read some text, I almost slapped myself for having forgotten about the breakfast waiting right next to me as I put on my glasses.

 

I was grateful my wife had a clear handwriting, because my brain clearly couldn’t handle complicated words like the medicine’s names were. She was right when it came to my appetite, which had gone missing on Friday. I could barely eat anything, and if my lack of hunger hadn’t been enough, my throat hurt so badly swallowing had become harder of a task than my entire _khâgne_ years. I just resolved to drink what was on there, take the medicine for the moment and told myself I would touch the food later. Maybe.

Turning on my phone revealed two things: it was far later for me to wake up than usual, as it was half past ten already, and I had worried far more people than I thought I had. This was weird: I had not told anyone about even feeling under the weather. I had only told Annabelle, of course, some workmates who had asked me earlier during the week and Roxanne. The most surprising was that Justine hadn’t gotten a hand over my phone number (yet), considering she was the one who saw the entire situation go downhill and downhill.

 

In my eyes, the most important was to inform the people worrying for me, with the simplest words which came to my mind because I wasn’t ready to misspell my usual formal speech style. Only then did I take a look at the last message sent to me: François Bannaire, on this very morning, two hours before I had woken up.

“Hello Florian, excuse me if I disturb you. You’re feeling any better? I have something to ask you for the _khâgnes_ which Justine couldn’t tell me about. Can I borrow some of your time to tell me?”

I typed back:

“Hello François. I am doing a bit better, still feeling very ill though. Thank you for asking. I would say go for it, but I cannot guarantee I will be on par with what you expect from me usually.”

 

Thinking back on the student he had mentioned, I opened back my mails. Just as I had expected, Justine had sent one on Saturday evening, untitled, completely unopened. I thought two seconds about giving her my phone number, only to forget about it right after. The fever really messed up with my thoughts to the point I still heard her voice in the back of my mind while she had no way to even contact me directly. I opened the email she had sent me:

“Hello Sir,

Just a quick message to ask you if you’re doing better. You really worried me Friday and yesterday, but I think you know that by now. I told Mr Bannaire about everything: the classes, the lessons, where we were exactly, the orals, etc. I think I sent him everything necessary, including the note you wrote him, which I made sure not to open. He told me he would ask you for the things I really didn’t know about.

Well to you,

Justine.”

 

I was about to type back my answer, thanking her for her solicitude and for helping me tremendously to deal with François’s nervousness about his substitution, when I received another text message from him.

“Take care then! Your recover is more important than everything. Speaking of which, I wanted to ask you… No, never mind. I’ll get the hang of it by myself.”

“Are you sure? You can ask me anything.”

“Well… It’s personal. You really sure I can?”

“Of course. I am here for you anytime.”

 

While he was typing, or at least I guessed so, I was writing my own reply to Justine, coughing here and there, my head pounding less with the medicine finally working against the source of my pain. I could almost feel my fever lowering as I addressed her my thanks. My phone rang as soon as I finished it.

“Thanks a lot. As to the question: how do I announce them I’ll be replacing you for a bit? I’m scared they won’t accept me back. They didn’t like me so much at the end of last year.”

“You should just tell them I’ll be unable to do class. Just do your best. We do not really have a choice here. I am certain you will be able to pull it off.”

“What if they all skip class?”

“They won’t. They are mature enough to know this is just stupid to do.”

 

François’s next message sent shivers down my spine, adding to my feverish chills.

“And what if, say, I collapse?”

“Why do you ask such a thing? François, are you all right?”

“I’m terrified, Florian. I’m so fucking scared. Scared of fucking everything up. I’m scared I’ll collapse because this is a tight schedule I’m dealing with. I shouldn’t be dumping this on you, sorry.”

“François, listen to me. Read carefully. You’re a doctorating teacher. You’re an ENS graduate. You and I know you made it through perfectly last year. I am certain you will just fine. We all believe in you, don’t let exhausted students from last year paralyze you. It’s okay to be scared, I would be if I was you. But don’t overdo it. The last thing I want is for you to be as ill as I am.”

“Thank you so much. I’ll do my best.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear so. Good luck, thank you again for your efforts.”

 

The pounding in my head didn’t want to stop. I locked my phone and put it aside, burying myself under the sheets and my head inside the pillow. I felt really awful, and replying to a worried François only made me ignore until the conversation ended.

I heard, from my side, some voices. Thinking it was my fever playing tricks on me, I tried to ignore it, only to recognize the nickname “Annie”, from the mouth of whom I guessed was my mother-in-law. I tried getting up, to at least say hello to them, before surrender was imposed to me by my condition. The explanation was simple: there was a part of the baby monitor on my bedside table, with a small note attached to it:

“Olivier’s with me. You’ll be with us one way or the other. ;)”

 

The voices made a thousand more times sense now.

“How’s our grandson doing? I cannot believe he is already one year old” said Mr. Baudelas.

“He has your eyes, Annie. His hair comes from his father, am I wrong? Your hair never was this dark, neither was your brother’s.”

“Speaking of which… Where is your husband? Has he locked himself inside his office to avoid family reunions again?”

They would never let down the one time I preferred to work on my _agrégation_ exams all those years ago, would they not?

 

“Well… Florian is very sick…” Annabelle’s voice had softened to the point it sounded like a tearless whimper.

“Oh my… Since when? I hope it is not too grievous.”

“He has been sick for a while, but it only got this bad on Friday… The doctor said he came down with pneumonia.”

“Back when we were your age, it could be fatal. Do not worry, darling, today’s medical field has improved so much he will make it out with no real problem.”

“Charles-Henri, darling, now is not the time. Our daughter is worried for her husband.”

“I will check up on him regularly, if you do not mind. I am very sorry about this turn of events. I know you do not have many occasions to come see us in Lille like so. However, I cannot let Florian on his own all day long, he is far too ill to take care of himself all on his own. He’s on bed restrain until tomorrow…”

“It is all right, honey. We are very sorry to hear so and we both hope he gets better very soon.”

“Thank you, papa, mama.”

 

A slight smile appeared on my face. I felt relieved to know Annabelle was in good hands and, as such, I was in her own good hands too. With all tension having gotten resolved, I could finally drift back to sleep.


	3. Now Is the Time to Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justine has stuff to tell Mr Bannaire about. She wishes she wouldn't and she wishes he would actually listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cultural note of the day: "Hypokhâgne" simply refers to the first year of this particular college course, and "cube" means that Lily is remaking another khâgne year to have better schools and shit.

It almost felt like I was in _Hypokhâgne_ all over again. Same classroom, the good old CC002 room, same classmates, same teacher. However, this time around, it was someone else’s classes, someone else’s lessons, someone else’s students. This was both familiar and foreign. It felt like coming back to your birth town, only to discover it had changed so much since then.

Actually, seeing Mr Bannaire teach us again was just a more painful reminder of the fact he wasn’t our teacher anymore. It felt unnatural to have him in front of us, especially as he wasn’t holding his own papers, but Mr Moinot’s. This wasn’t his class anymore, and he knew it, and we knew it. It just felt so… wrong.

No, it didn’t feel like I was a _hypokhâgne_ again.

 

Calming down Mr Bannaire had been insanely difficult. It had taken me an entire hour on the first Monday evening after the incident to convince him everything would be all right. His distrust of himself was heart-breaking coming from someone who had done so much and managed to do so many wonderful things in his rather short life.

Mr Moinot revealed to me his workmate hadn’t turned twenty-nine yet, but that it would happen on the Saturday of that week. This was another reason why he had been so reluctant about entrusting his frail friend with this task: he was still inexperienced, young and somewhat lost. He had a serious case of failure-phobia he didn’t really realize was ingrained inside his poor, poor brain.

 

Of course, the class started with a brief explanation of the situation:

“Hello everyone! As you must know, I’m Mr Bannaire, your former literature teacher for most of you here. For these who may not know me, I’m the _hypokhâgne_ literature teacher. I’ll be yours, along with theirs, for the next two weeks or so. I hope you all received the email telling you about the substitution.”

He got out from his bag a few paper sheets. He was as disorganized as he had been during my first year of college. Well, _our_ first year of _khâgne_ , on second thought, as it was his first year as a teacher there. Huh, funny.

“Mr Moinot requested me to tell you all this in his stead.”

 

He cleared his throat, mainly for an emphasis effect, as the class was chattering here and there about the brand not-so-new teacher of ours.

“First of all, he apologizes for this turn of events. He entrusted me with you until your mock exams, which you know will start on Friday, the fifteenth of December. He wants you to be patient with this, study as hard as you usually do without overdoing it, and to take care of both you… and me.”

His awkward laugh was followed by some giggles from the class, mine included. I recognized there Mr Moinot’s natural care for his fellow Chromas members.

“We’ll continue the lesson you started with him on Lamartine. If we finish too early on, we’ll do some essay training, okay? I don’t want to start on _Notre-Dame de Paris_ while substituting for him, I hope it’s all fine with you.”

 

A small, soft smile appeared on Mr Bannaire’s lips.

“I’m actually happy to be able to teach you all again. You have an important meaning to me, as dumb as it may sound to you. Of course, Mr Moinot being very ill isn’t something to be any glad about, but I hope you got what I meant by that.”

A hand rose.

“Lily, a question?”

“Wait, Sir, what did you say about Mr Moinot?”

 

Lily Hauchecorne was one of our _cubes_ , these _khâgnes_ who took another service of literature classes. She was quite close to my own _khâgne_ godfather and we were somewhat friendly to each other too. Maybe I should had explained her what is was all about as soon as it got officialised, I thought. It was a bit too late to do so, anyway, so I just rolled back and opened a blank Word document on my new laptop.

I knew a huge fact about her: she was very close to Mr Moinot. If he had to warn us in a hurry of something, she was the one to receive a text message of him. She somewhat served the role between him and us as I was currently stuck doing between two literature idiots who couldn’t take care of their own selves. As a modern literature specialist, she also knew Mr Bannaire, albeit far less than us former _hypokhâgnes_ of the twenty-sixth promotion did.

 

The expression on her face only meant the situation was far weirder than it had been to my eyes until the very moment Mr Bannaire mentioned his workmate being ill.

 

He looked in my direction.

“I should had expected them not to tell you all about this. Well… I guess it’s my job to fix this. You deserve to know.”

“Them” implicitly referred to both Mr Moinot and me. My job was clear: link both teachers. I never got assigned the task of contacting the students, thus why I remained quiet on the topic. I was sure Mr Bannaire knew about, but as always, it escaped his mouth.

 

“I don’t think I should give you too much information about this, it’s his personal life and it’s out of our reach. However, I can tell you he got a big respiratory infection which earned him bedrest for the entire week and another for recovery. Since you can’t afford losing time, he got me to substitute for him. We both hope this is all right with you.”

Everybody more or less shrugged. By this point, they had all come over the fact classes were going to be a joyful mess again. I didn’t think anybody wanted so, since Mr Bannaire had always been incredibly disorganized, but we had to roll with what we were given. It was already a miracle someone was there to teach us, after all. That was what I had learnt from countless missing and unreplaced teachers in middle and high school.

 

The class in itself wasn’t as messy as I had expected it to be. He clearly stuck with what Mr Moinot had previewed for us, as he even used his typed-down notes instead of a paper sheet covered in blue ink. This truly was the bastard child of two opposed methods of making classes, but strangely enough, it somewhat worked to its advantage.

It was Mr Moinot’s clear ideas and immensely documented lessons with Mr Bannaire’s simpler words, which gave the entire lesson a clarity it didn’t have when Mr Moinot was making class to us. I had to admit, this was pretty nice, and I even got somewhat excited for Mr Bannaire’s lessons if they were all going to be like this one. This was how it should had always been, in some way.

 

After the class ended, Mr Bannaire asked me to stay with him until everyone else left the room. This could only mean he had stuff to tell me and only me, which in turn translated to being related, at least a little, to the situation and his workmate.

“You wanted to talk to me, sir?” I asked him as I went to his desk.

“Do you have, say, the hour in front of you? I have to make some things certain again.”

“I do.”

 

We got out of the classroom and made our way to outside the school, all the while talking about some small stuff here and there. He asked me if his lesson had been clear to me, to which I said yes and explained how it was wonderful in my opinion. A grin made its way onto his face, something my own reflected.

“I’m relieved then! I’ve never tried to do this, even last year, so it was a huge first. I’m really happy it all worked out!”

“You didn’t work with Mr Moinot’s class when substituting for him the first time?”

“Nah, not really. It was right before their exam, so I just had to make them see stuff again. That may be why I really didn’t like doing it.”

 

Oh boy, what had I ventured myself into yet again?

“So… You didn’t like doing that at all last year, but this year it’s not the same, even if the situation is worse? What makes it any better?” I asked, staring at him.

“It’s different because I know you all, except maybe one or two students who weren’t in your class last year. I didn’t know them, and the ones I did, I barely got to know. It’s like a silly dream I had to this day, you know, teaching you all again. I shouldn’t be happy because of the reason why this all unfolded, but… it’s stronger than me. I’m glad and worried at the same time…”

The soft tone of his voice finally fitted how sweet he was under his shell of dynamism and false snobbism.

 

“I… kinda see where you’re going. I’m happy we get to have you as a teacher again, at least I do, but the circumstances are so much sadder than last year, it prevents the both of us to truly be happy about it.”

“Doesn’t it? I’m a bit… scared about the situation, I really am. I keep thinking, what if Florian doesn’t come back? What if he can’t? What if he can’t and I’m stuck doing this all on my own?”

“Sir, I don’t think that’s the way you told me to go around…”

He shook his head.

“You’re right, I should keep my calm! He would scold me if I panicked anyway.”

 

We continued walking, both silent.

“Wait, Sir… Where are we going?”

“Oh, I guess I was just going home, without thinking much of it… I guess we can have a drink in a café? I want to discuss some more things with you.”

“Sure thing, I don’t think I’ve got money on me though, mind if I…”

“I’ll pay you something, don’t stress over it!”

“Thank you, sir…”

 

We landed at the Vertigo, the fancy café of our literature Monday evenings. He smirked when I ordered a glass of apple juice, and I thought he was going to order a beer to further make fun of my no-alcohol consumption style. Instead, he requested another apple juice. Needless to say, I was surprised, but refrained from commenting on it.

We then went to sit at a table in the back of the café, in a calm space where the TV wasn’t screaming the latest, trendy music videos too loudly. I had to say, I could get accustomed to the comfy feeling of drinking a thing with a great person, but I swore to myself I would pay if it was to happen again.

 

“You mentioned earlier, in a frenzy, you were scared of Mr Moinot not coming back. Does it mean you’re that lacking in confidence? I thought yesterday was enough” I opened the talk again.

“It’s… not the same as yesterday, Justine. I’m not scared because I think I’ll do a bad job. I’m scared because this is a real biohazard.”

“What do you mean by ‘biohazard’?”

“This is, by far, the easiest way for me to overwork myself to illness I’ve ever gotten. While I’m sure Florian’s pneumonia comes from that too, I’m certain I’ll go for it to the point of self-sacrifice. I’m telling you so as long as I’m lucid on it, because in a week, I’ll probably be five feet under and think of myself as this guy who can do anything as long as he is motivated for it. I know that’s not how things work, but that’s how I am.”

“So that’s why you’re so weary about this… You’re scared for your health…”

He silently nodded.

 

I thought about it for a good, solid minute, shivering, before coming up with a satisfying reply.

“Listen, sir. What you’re not factoring here is the fact you’re not alone. I’m sure you have workmates who would gladly help you in this difficult task. You don’t have to do it all on your own, or else you’re doing to seriously overwork yourself. And, even if they aren’t enough, don’t forget us. We may only be students, but we can all do a little something. I don’t think everyone is going to make an effort – especially not that bitchy roommate of mine –, but the ones who will can make it lighter and easier for you.”

My voice seriously dimmed down.

“I mean, I don’t want to see you get ill too. One is enough…”

 

Silence.

“Justine.”

I raised my head. Mr Bannaire glazed at me with cotton eyes, in a solemn expression.

“I now know why Florian Moinot has picked you to watch over me.”


	4. To Our Past Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Florian gets a visit and memories combine with today's situations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small cultural notes:  
> -when Christian and Henri refer to "carré students" (for Justine and her class), they mean she's a student whose doing her khâgne year for the first time. "Cube" refers to those who did two of these.

Henri and Christian paid me a visit as I was still bedridden, four days into illness. The cough had subdued a bit: the fever hadn’t. For some reason, it didn’t want to go down, even after Annabelle’s countless tries and Dr Menkën’s knowledge. It had barely gone down, just so I would not suffer brain damage, but it instead triggered all I didn’t want to see again in my sleep.

I had forgotten about my nightmares. I had forgotten about my haunting memories, my original family, the blood I had spilled on the floor and all over my friends. It had been easy to forget there once was a bullet in my chest, but fevers tended to either make me hallucinate or get vivid nightmares.

 

As soon as they had both stepped foot inside our dorm room, I remembered where I was: Lakanal, Sceaux, struggling to get Ulm’s entrance exam. They were probably coming back to our room as I was working on something, but what was I studying already? Where were my books? We had a History test on the day after. I couldn’t put a hand on it. Why was I in bed anyway?

“Hey, easy Flo, easy. Your wife’s worried enough already, don’t strain yourself more than you already are,” said Henri as he grabbed my shoulders and put me back to bed.

“What wife? I’m not married! I don’t have time to be married, well, at the moment…” I said as I still let myself go. “Moreover, there’s the History test on tomorrow, and I don’t think I remember the dates well enough…”

“What test? Flo, you’re not a student anymore. You’re the one who makes the tests now” added Christian, coming towards us.

 

Henri dipped the washcloth I hadn’t realized I had on my head before into a bucket as he put a hand under my bangs.

“She’s right, your fever’s still very high. You’re cooking inside” he commented.

“But what wife? You didn’t explain me what that all meant! Is this a prank?”

“Well, huh, your wife. You know, Annabelle. You know, Eudes’s sister, the one girl you dated all throughout college, married and had a child with? Yeah, her.”

“Wait… I have a child too now?! That’s madness! I’m single!” I coughed back.

 

His face simply deadpanned. A Henri classic.

“Yes, you have a son. His name’s Olivier and usually he’s your pride and joy.”

“Henri, that’s simply impossible. I would remember if I had a child! We’re only twenty anyway, we have plenty of time to have children after we graduated college!”

“Flo, what the hell are you even saying? We’re thirty-three! You’re no longer a student, we’ve all graduated years ago, you’re the teacher now!”

 

Christian suddenly stepped in, with his raspy voice, as he scratched his beard.

“Henri, I don’t think Flo’s actually with us right now. It’s like he went back to 2004 all over again. That’s probably his fever playing tricks of him, remember when he took us for his deceased relatives back then? That was scary, he even referred to himself as a girl.”

“I-I-I’m not a g-g-girl!!” I screamed, until I almost coughed out a lung. In a swift reflex, I checked my own body. A deep inhale took me by surprise.

“Yeah, we knew that, don’t worry,” Henri rolled his eyes.

Then everything went black for a few seconds.

 

It felt like waking up again when I looked at my two friends, hands shaking. A hand was still on my forehead, until it wasn’t.

“Your fever is finally going down. You sure scared us man,” commented Christian.

“What happened? My head’s pounding, but it’s all I know… You both look like you’ve seen a ghost…”

“Basically, you assumed we were still attending Lakanal. Christian figured out you were delirious.”

“So that was a fever dream… Sorry for this, I didn’t mean to freak you both out, especially since it’s been a while… Why are you here? It’s rare you come from Paris.”

“You’re really wondering why?” Christian snickered. “We’re here to see you, you idiot.”

 

A light scoff and some coughing followed from her. I would have to ask Annabelle to bring me to the bathroom, my face was feeling too hairy to my taste.

“I thought you may had a better reason to come to the cold lands of north France in… What day is it? I’ve lost track of time…”

“Today is Wednesday, the twenty-ninth of November,” simply answered Christian.

“Flo, you’re kidding, right? We’re friends and you think paying you a visit when you came down with pneumonia isn’t a legitimate reason? That’s a pretty serious thing to have, you know,” added Henri.

“You’re right,” I laughed back, amused at my own reply, “I know you both better than that. I guess it’s my fever draining me…”

“It actually just broke. It’s lowering as we speak, but you did scare the crap out of us both. We had forgot your deliriums were terrible since then.”

“Oh, right, last time was… when I thought you were my parents, in _khâgne_ , no? It’s been a while since I’ve hallucinated…”

“You know what? Never do that, ever again,” ordered Henri.

 

I grabbed my glasses on the nightstand and put them on, finally seeing the both of them clearly.

“Well, thank you for coming visit me then… You’ll excuse me the mess I currently am…”

“I’ll have to agree with you,” Christian replied, “you look like crap. It’s even worse than I thought, you really look worse than when you had bronchitis.”

“Remember when you coughed up blood all over Bouquinerie? Now _that_ was fun. She remained mad at you for an entire week!” said Henri.

It got a laugh out of me, but I only coughed up again, and a bit of blood got out. My hand had arrived too late and now red spilled from my mouth onto my palm.

“According to my doctor, I should stop spitting the remaining bloody sputum today… It hasn’t happened yet apparently…”

 

Soon afterwards, the three of us were drinking hot chocolate brought to us by Christian, our resident expert, still in my bedroom as if we were all roommates all over again.

“Why did you never move back to Paris, exactly? It’s been a while since we’ve gotten an attack, and your son isn’t in school yet?” asked Henri, blowing his cup.

“To be honest, Lille isn’t as bad as you both think… Annie prefers it because it’s calmer, and because she found herself a passion for Flemish culture…”

“Apparently your parents-in-law think you’re way too solitary for their taste. He even suggested they’re starting to think you’re not good enough for their daughter. You think that’s true?” pondered Christian, rising his eyes from his phone. “Oh, by the way, Eudes says you hello and wishes you a good recovery.”

“Tell him I thanks from me and I hope he has a nice day… Honestly? They’re just saying that because Sunday I was bedridden and couldn’t attend their family lunch here… and they blamed it on how focused I’m on my job… Maybe too much, sure, but I don’t think I’m a bad husband or father… I’m doing my best, no matter if they like it or not…” A coughing fit made it out of my throat.

“You sound as terrible as you look, Florian.”

“I know,” I rolled my eyes, “don’t you think Justine repeated it enough to my face Friday...?”

“Justine? Is that your mistress?” Henri raised an eyebrow as he asked.

 

I gagged over his words.

“Excuse me?! She’s my student! I’d never cheat on Annabelle!” I screamed before the unavoidable happened.

“Damn,” swore Christian, “you must had looked like absolute trash if your _own student_ told you so.”

“She did imply I looked like a walking corpse… but she meant well so it probably was just her nerves speaking… She’s a good girl, she deserved a better evening than that…”

“Don’t tell us you spent an entire evening getting taken care of Florian,” Henri snickered. “Now that would be the nail in the coffin.”

“Considering I spent my time between consciousness and unconsciousness… Not really… but she had to drive me back and sleep here… That’s not how I would like to spend my birthday evening…”

They both looked at each other, looking like they had saddened the discussion by insisting on Justine’s whereabouts from the fateful night.

 

“Hey, Flo, can you tell us a bit more about her in general?” Henri then asked. “It’s rare you mention a student by his first name in front of us, especially since you never mentioned any Justine before.”

“Oh, Justine’s a good student… who just had the misfortune to be the last one remaining after the test on Friday. She’s the one I entrusted for the substitution, at least for the information part, as I’m afraid I won’t get exactly what happens from my substitute…”

“Oh, that’s right,” noticed Christian, “you have to be substituted if you’re going to be unable to make class in an extended amount of time. You really distrust your substitute to entrust a _carrée_ student with that?”

“Far from that… I just Justine’s going to tell me things he may not tell me about his own health…”

“God,” Henri’s eyes grew wide, “is there two of your kind in that school? I’m surprised we never heard about him.”

“Not exactly… I would say he lacks a façade, so he avoids talking about the sensitive topics, like his health because he’s a sickly man… Justine’s mostly here to help him out with the substitution as I know he’s rather fragile and easily scared by situations he isn’t comfortable in… He needs someone like her who can shake him up before he loses himself to self-loath again…”

“Sounds like you could have needed her at some point to, Florian,” commented Henri. “We all know you hate some parts of yourself.”

“As long as the students don’t know this, I’m alright. She does, because I tend to spill my heart out when I’m sick, but I trust her into not giving me away to her classmates…”

“Yeah, we noticed that too. It took you a harsh fever to come clean to us about your… issues.”

 

Christian looked like he had an illumination.

“Eudes told us first, and we thought it was because Anna had told him, but he told us Flavie Bannaire did…”

“Ah, that’s right,” added Henri, “she’s a friend of his because she’s his parents’ doctor, isn’t she? Do we know how she was in the know about all of this? Paris and Arras aren’t exactly very connected aside from a train track.”

“Apparently her brother works there, but he refused to give her any detail.”

“Flavie… Bannaire you said…?” I asked, feeling like the name was familiar.

“Yes, Flavie Bannaire. Why? I think she’s also a friend of Anna.”

“Her brother, she said…”

“Yes, she… Oh you’re just musing about this, aren’t you? You probably don’t know him any-”

“Her brother… is my substitute.”

 

Henri looked puzzled.

“I thought her little brother was an engineer. Why would he substitute for you?”

“Doesn’t she have two brothers? She mentioned she was the eldest of her siblings.”

“If I’m not mistaken… She has two brothers and a sister…”

“How do you know she has a sister? We never mentioned she did.”

“Her brother is my substitute…”

“Thomas Bannaire is an engineer, Flo. That doesn’t make sense.”

“Her other brother…”

 

The two guys looked at each other, embarrassed.

“Oh, right, her other brother may be a literature teacher… She usually doesn’t talk much about him. He lives far away and she never sees him much anymore, she says.”

“He never mentioned he had an older sister either…”

“Isn’t her brother called…”

Christian’s and my voice said the same name at the same time.

“François?”

 

Henri’s face distorted into some kind of misunderstanding.

“Are you telling me the world is small enough for Eudes’s friend and parents’ doctor and your substitute not only knowing each other, but also being related by blood?!”

“Seems like so… Did she mention anything about him?”

“Let me think… I think Eudes told me Flavie had told us about how anxious her brother had been when he had last called her, and it was the kind of calls she hated because he needed comfort more than anything else. I think she even mentioned he had cried on the phone, something he’s usually able to retain.”

My legs spasmed out and I felt an urge to get up, get dressed, get out of my house, get on a train and get to François’s flat. Instead, all I did was hide my face in my hands.

“I should had noticed that through his messages…”

 

Christian blinked.

“Wait, that tone of yours. It means your instincts are playing up again. You know your substitute?”

“François Bannaire? He’s usually the _hypokhâgnes_ ’ literature teacher. We work together, especially since I didn’t have this year’s _khâgnes_ in class on their first year for the first time this year. He’s usually so happy and carefree… I can’t get over putting him through so much stress.”

“Are you telling us he’s teaching for two classes while you’re recovering?”

“Exactly… That’s one reason why I didn’t want to take an illness leave in the first place… And one thing I entrusted Justine with was help him not overdo it…”

“Man, you’re sicker than you’ve ever been, and yet you still have some energy to spill on your workmates? Where does your heart even stop? I should have known as soon as you helped a girl to the infirmary as yourself were burning up. Was it during the bronchitis episode?”

“No Chris, it was when Magda had sprained her ankle in the stairs at Ulm. Anna was worried beyond reason and Flo, as the good in-love gentleman he still is fifteen years later, helped her to the infirmary so Anna would stop worrying. Instead he passed out as soon as they were there from a fever. Come to think of it, you’re easily sick.”

“Is that any new…?” I replied. “I’ve always been easily sick when I’m tired.”

 

They both let out a familiar-sounding snicker.

“Yeah, that’s exactly right. That’s why you should rest,” said Henri, “so your workmate has less long to hold on and you can leave the bed without Anna freaking out for you in your stand.”

“You’re right… What worries me is that Justine told me the exact same thing… well, more vulgarly because that’s Justine, but point still stands…”

“Man,” reacted Christian with wide eyes and wide gestures, “you must had been in such a rough shape for this student to tell you so to your face.”

“It’s more of a thing she does… I guess she worries for the wrong people, that’s how she put it as, but I don’t think that’s right… She just worries for people she sees doing unwell and not doing the right thing to fix it… The girl’s probably scared because she looks up to teaching figures, she must feel lost and unsafe when something goes awry with them…”

“And that’s why you gave her the responsibility to handle this mess with your workmate? This is going to drive her crazy.”

“Chris, I’m certain Justine doesn’t work that way… I asked her to handle it, if she agreed to, because I think it’s better for her if she feels somewhat in control… And, honestly, I trust her more for telling me what’s going on than François…”

 

The coughing fit that followed didn’t want to stop, as if it had built up inside as I spoke and only cleared my throat and let out a cough or two, leading to a burning pain flaring inside, like the heat of a volcano who can’t let lava flow and just has to explode.

“Jesus,” yelled Henri, “your cough is noisier than Bouquinerie’s heels! And they were so noisy you could chatter during tests!”

Something came out of it again as it stopped, leaving me airless, as it leaked out in the tissue I was holding. A morbid eye looked into the matter. It was green.

“Guys… I think I just stopped spitting out blood…”

 

Their mortified faces turned into smiles.

“That’s the only good piece of news we had today, good job Flo,” commented Henri.

“I’ll have to tell Annie and François about this so they stop worrying so much…”

A sharp idea went through my head.

“And Justine… I have to tell her too…”

 

Christian and Henri smirked at each other.

“We thought you had issues getting attached to your _carré_ students.”

“It seems like not so much,” I smiled. “It’s better that way…”


	5. Bad Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday isn't François's day, at all, and he pays the first costs of the situation or, rather, how he handles it.  
> Because, let's be honest, he can't deal with stress and pressure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh, yeah, I should precise I'm no medical expert, so if I depict the one health-related element here wrong, I'm deeply sorry and next time I'll have more brain cells to look less ridicule to the face of the Internet.
> 
> Also did I mention François is a natural potty mouth? Watch for language bruhs.

The last class of this first week of subbing finished with the class with the _khâgnes_. I couldn’t deny this felt like paradise, or at least, a short-lived stay in paradise. I was drained, something I couldn’t ignore as soon as I would get vertigos when getting up too rapidly. This wasn’t normal, I was used to sleepless nights, that was how I had gotten through so much! My body was already giving up on me and that angered me.

I couldn’t take a real rest when there was so much at stake. I had forgotten Florian had read all the theories and research papers on Lamartine when I hadn’t. Headache medicine was the only way to go if I wanted to get it all right for the classes. I couldn’t ask an ill man about that kind of stuff as he was still struggling against his illness and ills in general, if I pretended to be like Florian and try to involve my literature knowledge outside of literature.

 

I couldn’t have been more grateful for Justine. I had thought she would be some kind of curse, as she was a potty mouth drawing crude caricatures of her teachers during classes sometimes: she was just the blessing Florian had made her to be. While she couldn’t directly do anything to the situation, except for serving as a strange relay between her class and the both of us teachers, her presence was giving me strength, a motivational strength to go on.

It was because I didn’t want to disappoint her class, but especially her now. Maybe it was just my sense of duty acting up. I didn’t feel any pressure from the outside, or just a little, but from the inside it was a fire burning all the time. As I was trying to fall asleep, I had thoughts about everything and the situation I was in. It was easier to read books than just ignoring these, for some reason. It was more useful, at least.

 

There were some upsides to this first week’s end. Anne-Marie organized the now yearly Secret Santa of the preparatory class and everyone was invited to participate, students and teachers alike. This time around, she had made sure none of us would get another workmate for it.

The thing was, if someone wasn’t here, someone else had to pick someone for them. Before I could even pick for myself, all the workmates decided I would be the one to do so for Florian. Their reason: “you’re his sub, it’s only normal you get to do it for him”. It was a bit weird drawing for two, but I would had lied if I had said I didn’t feel a bit honoured to do so.

 

I picked for Florian, then for me. He had gotten a _khâgne_ student, which had to be the case with someone who didn’t know the first years, and I texted him about this immediately after opening his paper. I felt quite confident I would get a first-year student as I opened mine, waiting for his reaction, until my face went so dead I got questioned about why I was so pale all of a sudden. My eye twitched as soon as I saw the name I had gotten.

Justine Lhotar.

 

I was completely taken aback by this. Getting a second-year student was a possibility too, sure. I just didn’t expect I would get the one girl I was getting more and more thankful towards. The letters of her name were reminding me of everything she had ever told me about this subbing. This was the occasion to give her back everything.

The day the students picked, I couldn’t stop looking at her. The expression she got when she opened her paper was of surprise, that was sure, but my mind-reading skills were as barebones as they could possibly be, so I was unable to tell if it was purely positive or purely negative. All I got was a mixed message and disparate feelings from her. It was a nice way to forget my legs were starting to wobble from the tiredness I was piling up.

I had no idea what to get her, though, or when I was going to find the time to even properly think about that. I thought about lunch time, because I knew Elodie was on my heels and I suspected anyone to be Florian’s spy at that point, but I would have to coordinate with the workmates for the upcoming mock exam week. My responsibilities before my gift obligations, I thought.

 

An occasion pointed itself as Jacques was missing that week. He had serious family issues right when the second-year students had their English test. We thought he may had come back for the test on Friday afternoon, after all watching over a bunch of young adults writing translations and commentaries couldn’t be that hard, but he never did.

As such, someone had to be dispatched on Friday, and the lucky person was supposed to be Raphaël, but he couldn’t do so as he had classes after two in the afternoon. As I saw everyone bothered with transportation, lesson making or personal issues, I proposed myself as the new watcher. Everybody else was surprised, Raphaël included, even if they knew I was the only one living in Arras.

 

“François,” Elodie immediately asked, “you’re sure you can do this? You’re exhausted.”

“Exhausted? You’re overblowing the thing out of proportions,” I replied. “It’s just watching over the _khâgnes_. It’s nothing I haven’t done last year.”

“This is different,” commented Laurent. “You’ve never watched for a Friday afternoon, and you’re the first one to know your current situation isn’t the best for that. You’re really sure you don’t want to take that time to rest?”

“I have to agree with Laurent on that one,” she added, “you should rest, François. I’m sure they can handle it by themselves, even if Raphaël is unable to watch them over for more than an hour. They’re old enough, aren’t they?”

“Someone has to get back the papers for Jacques and close the door behind them though, right?” I explained. “I know some of them can be trusted with that, but it’s still a bit… iffy.”

“You have to agree with that,” Raphaël commented. “This year’s _khâgnes_ aren’t exactly the most mature we’ve had… I can watch them over for the first hour, and François could just come to their room at seven and close behind them.”

“It doesn’t sound too bad to me,” Elodie said, “it gives him time to at least wake up at one in the afternoon. What do you think about that, François?”

“I can get behind it,” I replied.

 

I was planning on resting and just getting to school at six, but I got a bad case of daytime insomnia and just had to do something with my spare time if I wanted not to go crazy. Packing some books and sheets in my backpack, I got out of my flat, walking with zero clear destination, until I noticed I was mindlessly going to work, as if it was Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday. Oh well. A quick look at my watch: three in the afternoon. None of my workmates would know I was there before seven…

Once I reached the GA300 classroom, where the second-years had their English test, I realized my vision was already getting blurry. It was no time for my eyes to go into sleep mode, they may had suffered from my late night of work and early morning of paying my bills, but it was no reason for them to do their own thing and bother me. I had no time for this shit.

 

When I entered the room, everyone turned their eyes towards me. I simply smiled, trying my best to ignore the pair of insistent blue eyes fixated on me, and sat at the desk. The room was entirely silent and nobody was on their phone: maybe the workmates had been right all along, they were mature enough to handle a test on their own.

Anna, one of the class’s two representatives, handed me the classroom’s key without saying a word, then went back to her table and resumed her test. I guessed their teachers had warned them about me being the one to close that door. To be fair, I didn’t think a student should have to handle that, she deserved to go home like everybody else after the deed would be over.

 

I hadn’t expected sitting to be that energy-consuming. As soon as my focus was out of walking, my head started spinning uncontrollably, and all I wanted to do was to ~~sleep~~ grab my water bottle and take an aspirin. I eventually managed to do so, without being too noisy or at least I thought so, take some medicine and relieve the vertigos and pains away. It worked, it worked pretty well, until I started to feel lightheaded.

A salty taste spawned in my mouth. I didn’t remember the desk having so many ink spots. A smell filled the air, familiar, almost usual. The taste wasn’t very good, so I tried to get any candy I may had have in my bag, but all I saw where more of these ink spots, until I realized ink spots on the ground of a classroom didn’t make any sense. My thoughts weren’t making sense.

Wait, _aspirin_?!

 

I got up as well as I could with these shaking legs of mine and wobbled to the bathroom. Aspirin. Why had I even bought aspirin in the first place? I never took aspirin. That didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. A quick look in the mirror revealed two things: my vision was clear now and there was red all over my face. Then it finally, finally got to me.

Aspirin. It made it go awry. It made my bad blood go awry. Then that blood would get out of every hole possible: my nose, my fingers, my previously closed wounds. It would eventually stop, but for now, I had to wash the red away so nobody would question it. The last thing I wanted was to spill energy on such a pointless topic. A few tissues and water would do the trick, well, they would have too because I didn’t want to turn into Ahenobarbus.

 

This was not good. I was already weak enough, I didn’t need to get even more weakened by some stupid stuff like blood diseases and medicine mistakes. After washing my face the best as I could, tainting the water and the sink, hoping nobody would question the fact white had turned pink, red, burgundy, I zig-zagged my way back to the classroom. Nobody would wonder where I had gone, after all, I was human and I needed to attend to my own human needs.

Aspirin hadn’t even stopped the pounding in my head, if it hadn’t made it worse because of the disease. My eyes felt heavy, burning, a pressure building behind them to the point I had to admit to myself something: I was overworked already. I hadn’t let myself the necessary rest. I had promised Florian to take care of myself and Justine to ask for help if I needed it. However, there was no time and nobody to do so. It felt lonely.

The world turned all around me to the point everything was just blurry spots of colours. I had lost enough blood for my head to spin.

 

When I came to, feeling the driest I’d been in ages, there was someone next to me. As I expected, and honestly I was both lucky and unlucky of so, it was the one student who knew the inner workings of my mind more than she should. When my vision got clear, and that I could rise my glaze, I saw she looked somewhat… angered with me.

“Ah, sir, you’re coming back to us huh,” she said as she looked at me, a pile of papers in her hands. “I was getting scared you weren’t going to wake up in time for us to leave.”

“What… What time is it…?”

“It’s five past seven. School’s closing in like half an hour. Everybody left already so the door has to be closed. Sir, you’re with me?” she rambled before her voice quieted down.

“Y-yeah, I receive you perfectly Justine… Lemme just… Get my keys, they’re somewhere around…”

“It’s on the desk sir. Anna gave it to you like four hours ago. You’re sure you’re alright?”

“Somewhat…”

 

I got up, only for everything to spin again and her to catch me in my fall. Fuck. This was such a bad idea for me to get and I only realized now that I was weak and at a student’s mercy.

“Sir?! You’re sure you’ll be able to make it to your place?” Justine asked, having put the sheets as soon as possible on the desk.

“Probably…? Just gimme… a bit of time…”

“The school’s more or less gonna close on us if I do so,” she said, “so I can’t really let you rot away in that classroom. Come on, let’s bring you home.”

“Justine, you’re my student, I can’t let you see my place…”

“I’m your student for like a week for now. You look like you’re gonna transform into jelly as soon as I drop you. Please, sir, let me help you.”

I felt weak enough to just give her a smile and nodding. She already had my bag on her shoulder.

 

What was incredible with Justine was how unexpectable she was to me. I thought the girl was easily scared and stayed quiet whenever she was seeing something bad, but there she was holding me so my face didn’t hit the ground, basically manhandling me. Tom would have teased me upon my lack of strength, well, before noticing I was unwell and carrying me to the nearest bed. That wasn’t like it hadn’t happened before with every member of my family.

We made our way to my flat with my simple, almost one-word indications. The more we walked, my arm behind her shoulders, the more I realized I would had passed out instead of reaching my place again. Being out cold in the slightly shadier parts of Arras scared me.

 

I fell asleep (or at least I thought so? It was unclear whether or not I had just fallen asleep or fainted at that point) as soon as I was able to reach my bed, once we were arrived to my flat. I didn’t even remember entering my bedroom as far as I was concerned. I just remember Justine being a little bit panicked on the way there, since I quickly became deadweight to her, barely able to walk anymore. A young, thin girl like her didn’t have the strength to entirely carry me. I didn’t think even Florian had that strength when he would be at full health.

Whether or not it was sleep or loss of consciousness, it was essentially restless, just like every single nap I had had in the week before it. It was hard to tell whether or not I was dreaming of my bedroom, or if it was just me getting glimpses of reality between waves. In any case, it wasn’t making me feel any less tired.

 

When I woke up or came to, it was already day time. It felt a little blurry near me: I didn’t have my glasses, but smashing my nightstand with my hand was enough for me to recover them. My head was pounding, which sucked because it meant I had to somehow, somehow take it easy. I didn’t have the luxury of doing so.

Once my vision was clearer (it was still a little blurry, which was slightly worrying), I noticed there were a note, some medicine, a glass and a bottle of water on the nightstand not far from where my glasses were. I… didn’t remember falling asleep. I didn’t even remember coming back home. What had I even done yesterday? Maybe the note would tell me…

 

I read it, only to recognize a familiar handwriting, well, two of these. One of them was Justine’s, looking like it was rushed like the end of an essay, and one of them was my landlady’s. Remembering how the woman scolded me two days before for “being reckless”, I gulped down, only to wonder why she shared a note with my student. I took the headache medicine before my migraine amplified from the thinking.

I didn’t know if I was expecting more from Justine than some words of care and asking me to please, please, please give myself some rest because she was carrying an exhausted ragdoll. She was the one to lend me the medicine, preparing the glass and the bottle for when I would wake up. It was adorable of her, and it should had been so to me, but I couldn’t help but think this wasn’t meant to be. She shouldn’t had to do that in the first place, then I realized I had probably passed out in front of her, and that made me more uncomfortable than I would have thought.

 

The landlady’s note was more… _unexpected_ , to say the least. When she had scolded me, she hadn’t meant harm like I thought she was. The note was telling me to ask her for help in case I felt too ill to reach my flat all alone. With the broken lifter and the fact I lived on the sixth floor, I wondered how Justine had managed to bring me to my place, or how I had “walked” my way there. These were questions I would never have the answer to, I thought. Her help was greatly appreciated, even if I had always thought she hated me for being the clumsy airheaded idiot I was to the eyes of the entire residence.

She then proceeded to explain why she thought I needed help, and told me I was worrying everyone living around me because I wasn’t the chat-friendly nice neighbour I usually was aside from my forgotten mail, not to mention my “zombie-like looks”. If I hadn’t felt so weak, I would had looked at myself in a mirror to check if that was true, but I assumed it was because Justine had been a thing to tell me so. Quite the helping gal, huh.

 

I had to decide what to do with my day. My legs wouldn’t resist under how tired I actually was. The worst was to realize I was already exhausted beyond reason: my fatal flaw still was my overzealousness, even after all these years and experiences of failures and fevers. I didn’t need to overwork myself to get fevers, far from it, but they had always triggered the worst from my body, as soon as I had started to think it couldn’t get worse from there. I had always been wrong.

I thought I would take a nice shower once I felt better. For now, I could just allow myself to take it easy so I didn’t stumble upon my words every now and then. I had a book on Lamartine, my plugged-in phone and my laptop. Well, mostly my laptop, because the book was hidden from hindsight. There were no questions about who had changed its place.

 

I checked my emails on it. Usually I would have maybe browsed some social media sites, continued my research, but no, the first thing I did was check my emails. Unsurprisingly, Florian had sent it like four messages I hadn’t read yet, until I realized I had completely forgotten to check both phone messages and emails since Monday. Reading his messages, I quickly realized he had been worried sick for me the entire time, and he didn’t have to mention his sources, because I knew who could have sent him everything.

It got insanely weirder when he mentioned Edith Lajoie, Henri IV’s nurse. I didn’t want her to get involved in my shitty health issues again, especially since I had become a full adult and had my own life separate from Henri IV. I thought she had retired since then: she had done so, but she still had some worry to spill on me, apparently.

 

Of course, as per Florian rules, he hadn’t mentioned how he had gotten to know about her, because he needed to pick my interest so I would maybe, just maybe spit out an answer and give the precious news he needed. Honestly, he didn’t have to unbury my past to get me to dos, hell, I felt guilty the instant I realized I had forgotten to tell him about anything going on. I would have preferred for him to ask about how the students were. I didn’t have the heart to ruin his forced break by telling him about awful I was starting to feel.

Fuck, I needed sleep more than anything.

 

I simply responded to his last email by:

I’m fine, don’t worry, just a bit overwhelmed. Sorry for not responding earlier. The students are doing well and orals have been decent until then. I need a nap, I’ll tell you everything on the phone later. I think I’ll be finished with Lamartine when you’ll come back.

Hope you’re having a good and steady recover, get better real soon, please say hello from me to Annabelle and Olivier.

Cordially, François.

 

By the way… How the fuck do you know about Edith Lajoie? I never mentioned her since I joined Chromas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may be wondering about François's "diseases", as he calls them. I can't exactly tell you so, but... They're direct threats to his well-being when he ingests aspirin, so... I'll let you think about that.  
> (he hates it because it's so bad he can't give it away to people who would need it. Who would want toxic blood after all?)


	6. It's Hard to Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justine reprises the role as the Local Teacher Nurse™ and she discovers even more stuff about Mr Bannaire. Nasty stuff, of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I had Justine screaming at François but my Word glitched out, I lost most of it and decided to shorten it up.  
> The angst needs to arrive later in the story anyway.
> 
> also I'm supposed to work on college stuff and sleep but fuck slep and fuck philosophy when you can write badly written angst

The plot kept thickening. I went from “girl helps out sick teacher to go home, more at seven” to “girl is involved into substitution shenanigans with a sick man and another with a biting failure complex all the while she discovers stuff she isn’t supposed to know, more at eight” in less than a week. Sure thing, I knew I was going to get into more stuff which was completely above my head. I just didn’t know it would be that intense and that intimate. Too intimate, actually: it made me beyond uncomfortable because the situation was awkward.

Bringing my not-so-former-for-now French teacher home was unnatural to me. It felt like I was just trying to fix what was, in the end, unfixable. It’s not by bringing him home that I would fix his insecurities, or his exhaustion. I couldn’t fix the fact that he had to substitute for someone more experienced than him, or his poor health either. All I could do was to find a temporary fix to all of this. That was my duty, after all.

 

The class didn’t seem too disturbed by Friday’s events, about which I couldn’t stop thinking. It wasn’t that much about test watching: it was about Mr Bannaire, entirely about Mr Bannaire. I couldn’t do much about his zealousness, and this only helped me realize how powerless I was. Of course I was, what had I even thought when making that silly pact with Mr Moinot? That was madness.

However, who said this was entirely impossible for me to do anything to make it better? The landlady sided with me on that one. I knew the teaching staff would help with the situation in-case it went too far. I didn’t know who exactly would act and in what way: I just had a… feeling.

 

I kept sending emails to Mr Moinot, I would say at least one time a day, and replying to whatever he added onto the content of my messages. Most of the time, it was about the class: how orals were going, if everybody was alright, how classes went, list went on. I always felt like I had to give him some news of his sub, for whom he worried a lot.

I didn’t mention me bringing Mr Bannaire home. I just said he had been very tired and that I had made sure he had gone back to his place safely. He didn’t need to know the details when he was still sick, even if he insisted on being almost entirely cured. He told me about some friends visiting when I asked if he wasn’t feeling too lonely. I didn’t think anyone would want to chatter with less than a workmate when they were alone in a bed fighting a fever.

I was wrong.

 

I knew things were wrong on Friday when I went to the toilets and saw the teacher in front of the sink, panting. I was already weirded out by the fact he was in the girls’ bathroom, and it reminded me of something I had written once, but things didn’t stop there. He left staggering soon after I arrived, but not before I could notice splatters on the floor. Morbid curiosity made me look at these with precision, only to find out it was blood. Fucking _blood_.

Suddenly, the Pakistani guy getting assaulted in a Black Maria was the least of my problems, despite the fact I wanted my test to be better than the assignment before it. However, I could only finish the thing before being able to do anything remotely useful. Someone wouldn’t want anyone to ruin their work for him, especially not me. His priorities were effed up, man.

 

Of course, I told Mr Moinot about that peculiar sighting of mine, to somehow make up for the fact I wouldn’t tell him about bringing his colleague home. He showed great concern for poor Mr Bannaire, especially for how sad he seemed. I hadn’t described his face in my emails, but that was close to reality. He really looked sad, but it was mostly out of exhaustion.

He couldn’t smile the way he liked to.

I remember the landlady telling me about the nice neighbour not being himself the last days. She was worried for him but he had told anyone he wasn’t to be bothered for two weeks. He was worrying anyone while trying not to do so. That really backfired on him.

 

We were only halfway through the substation and I was already worried beyond my mind. Nothing could truly reassure me, between seeing my teacher worsening with each hour of class passing and witnessing my own classmates get more and more violent towards the situation.

Speciality class was horrible that week. Because the Geo teacher was late, they all chatted along to laughter and speaking on other people’s backs. That week was all about the cube students’ alleged privileges from Mr Moinot, Mr Moinot himself and Mr Bannaire. I could barely believe what I was hearing from behind my phone’s screen.

 

I stayed quiet, as usual. I hate gossip, but especially indiscreet and unconfirmed gossip that could ruin someone’s reputation and, by extent, social life. “She never says anything, but she hears everything”, Benoît once said to describe me. It truly described what I was: the Voyeur from the _Everyman_ play, looking upon my own speciality group with contempt and a feeling of not belonging. Fuck them, I thought. The sole person in there who knew what it was all about was me. They couldn’t assume what the situation was only to reduce it to “teachers are weak, and his sub sucks as badly as last year”. Mr Bannaire was right to be weary of us accepting the substitution. He knew us better than his workmate did.

What were you doing in _khâgne_ if you can’t tolerate working? Why were you there if it was just to wish you could not have class that day, or any other day of the week? Regular college was there for you. You could skip classes easily in college.

_Why were you here, in the first place?_

 

Modern Literature specialists showed a little more human side compared to their History-Geography counterparts. Except for the selfish monster who served as my roommate, they had all showed shades of worry, even her fellow friend. Lily was the most severely affected, searching desperately for answers on what was wrong with Mr Moinot.

When I mentioned it in a mail, he told me not to inform her on precise points if she was to ask. He would handle things himself in case she sent him anything directly. She didn’t know I detained most of the keys she was searching for in my pocket. Nobody did, because nobody had to know. It would only stir up more unneeded controversy and tension inside an already tense and self-destructive group of a class.

 

At least, Mr Moinot was getting better. There was a ton of typos in his first mail replies to me, except when it clearly was his wife answering me (it was easy to guess, she called me “honey” in the very first mail she attempted to write impersonating her husband…). They were less and less with time going, to the point the ones he was currently sending my way were devoid of any mistake in the wording. That was all I wanted on his side of the things, as I was confident he would help me out more with Mr Bannaire if he was there to listen to him.

This was all a story of cure and care, after all. I was looking after my own subbing teacher as the eyes of the one I normally had, because he wouldn’t look after himself on his own. He needed someone to remind him of a fact never to be forgotten: he was only human. We were all only humans, but he was the one who needed to remember that the most.

 

Mr Moinot also told me he would try to be at school for the Secret Santa gift exchange. He mentioned he wouldn’t make class, maybe watch it from the side line as if he was a student and if Mr Bannaire agreed to let him do so, because his breathing was still feeble. To that I asked if he was cured: yes, but still feeling the need to rest and have a convalescence. No wonder why, his lungs had been crackling noisily the last I had seen him.

I refused to tell him who I had gotten for Secret Santa. Not that I would have minded actually telling him in theory, as he had told me he had gotten Héloïse, but… The point of the event was to be secret, right? There was no fun in telling him I was supposed to give him a gift.

 

That was where things got even more hectic for me. What the hell was I supposed to give him, aside from a joke book on taking care of yourself? I didn’t have much when it came to what he liked: aside from books, poetry, his wife and his son, I was pretty lost. It would had been so much easier had it been the previous school year, where all the teachers had gathered to give him baby-related stuff. My parents didn’t help me very much pick the gift, as the best I got from them was “a book on Homarville. He’s a Parisian, right?”.

Not so sure about the Parisian thing, after all. Between the fact he now lived in Lille and his Lorrain accent, this wasn’t so clear in my head.

 

Mr Bannaire seemed even more bothered than I was. While I was browsing the bookshop with Marine, we saw him hovering over the classical books, and a few minutes later, he was at the same floor than us, browsing the aisles of History books, pens, notebooks… He didn’t even notice us when I showed Marine what I had picked for Mr Moinot’s gift, bought in Homarville’s bookshop rather than Arras’s. And I thought I was a noisy girl…

To add to that strangeness of him, when we went downstairs to look for the manga aisles, as I wanted to see if the series I was following had been updated with a new volume, we saw him again. Hovering over the same books as us. He still hadn’t noticed us, causing Marine to laugh again, but my laughter was only forced. This wasn’t any normal. This even scared me.

 

At one point, I just ended up poking his shoulder so he would notice me. I already had bought what I needed to: Marine had gone back to the train station, as she had some kind of rendezvous, but I didn’t and I had a question.

“Sir?”

He let out a small gasp, then turned towards me, and made his best totally-not-forced smile.

“Ah, Justine! I didn’t expect to see you on Arras a Saturday.”

“Me neither, to be frank. I also thought Mr Moinot had told you to rest during the weekend and not browse a bookshop while not noticing your own student laughing out loud.”

“I would have recognized your laugh, though… You’re sure it was me?”

“It was Marine’s, not mine. You’re sure you’re alright? You were either deeply focused or out there. That was eerie, if you ask me.”

“Hmm… I’m always very deep in my thoughts when I’m around books, so I guess both?” He let out a small laugh. “If you don’t have a train to take in the next hour, we could go to a café or something.”

“Works for me.”

 

We made our way to the exact same café as the previous time. I hoped deep inside he wouldn’t pull the same speech: for a teacher, he would take an extraordinarily long time to understand and apply a lesson. Ironic, but bad for everyone involved.

He didn’t, thank goodness of that. Instead, we discussed the class’s poor ambiance and cohesion, as he tried to defend them while I was tearing my own class apart. Seemed like I had more frustration built up in there than I had thought. Eventually, we came to the conclusion that some elements of the class were pretty rotten, while most of it was just fine, at least morally-speaking.

 

“Oh, right, sir. Today’s a special Saturday,” I said to break the silence which had installed itself after the conversation on the class.

“You think so? Seems as rainy as the previous days to me.”

“You’re kidding, right? There’s something very important today.”

Mr Bannaire looked at me in disbelief, as if I was talking nonsense. Nonsense his ass.

“You really forgot?”

“Forgot what?” His eyes then grew wide, “I forgot to tell Florian about the latest reunion on the mock exams! Shit, he’s gonna think I’m getting forgetful because I’m tired, and he’s gonna worry for me when he shouldn’t…”

“Sir,” I interrupted him mid-sentence, “it’s important stuff to tell Mr Moinot about, but that wasn’t what I meant.”

“Then what did I forget? I hope it’s not important then.”

 

A smile creeped on my face as I looked at him right in the eyes.

“Happy birthday, sir!”

 

My teacher’s face went from a confused expression to a wide grin, wetting eyes and a blush on his bearded cheeks. His hands made weird gestures all over the place, almost slapping me in their frenzy, as if he was drunk on happiness. It took me aback, in a way.

“Thank you very much, Justine… I forgot about that because I was caught in the storm…”

“Man, you really must be stressed out and overworked for you to forget your own birthday…”

“By the way, how did you get to know it? I don’t think I’ve even hinted at it once to your class.”

“Mr Moinot told me. It saddened him to burden you with us when it would be your birthday.”

 

I could see a tear attempting to escape his eye.

“Sorry for being so mellow about that… Just hadn’t time to breathe lately, if you… know what I mean…”

There was a weird sound coming out from his mouth, akin to a giggle but with a sorrow creeping behind it, if not a whimper.

“And… I remember that I forgot a ton of things… I hope I haven’t… forgotten things too bad…”

“Sir?”

 

His smile turned downwards, his hands started to shake, one arrived in front of his mouth. He choked over his own words.

“Shit… Ju… Overcoat pocket… Please…”

So that was what wheezing sounded like. Intense, terrifying wheezing.

 

I rushed to his side, attempting to find the good pocket. Quick. Left or right? Right, it’d be handier for him. Ok, good pocket. Inside or outside? Inside. He would try to hide it. Lower or higher? Higher. Next to his chest. A weird shape under my fingertips. Got it.

I handed the thing to him, which he took with a shaky hand. With squint, shut eyes and frowned eyebrows, sweat damping his skin, he took a breath from the thing, once, twice, thrice, maybe four or five times. The ordeal sounded painful, with these powerful wheezes.

 

It took minutes upon minutes for his breathing to even out. I was still shaken, scared even, at the very thought this could happen to him at more or less any moment. The weather was cold, sometimes dry, and he was under a lot of stress and pressure. It must had acted up before our little conversation in the café, yet he had kept it from everyone else. What a multi-faced man.

I sat down when he waved at me the general direction of my seat. He had a hand on his chest, pressing against the pain, another weakly clutching the inhaler. All of a sudden, it was a window on his current state: exhausted, weakened and unable to keep his health in check because of it. That had been madness all along.

 

“Sir? You’re okay?” escaped my lips, as my eyes barely dared looking at him.

“I… I’ve been better… But yeah…” he wheezed out, as the noise subdued.

“That’s terrifying, holy shit… What even is that?”

“Asthma…”

His eyes looked away as he clutched his sweater, teeth clenching between deep breaths.

“Sorry for scaring you… That wasn’t my intention…”

 

I swallowed my own saliva and looked at him right in the eyes.

“You worried me more than anything else… I thought you may choke to death there.”

“I would have giggled had I not been breathless… That’s the best thing I’ve heard on that thing yet…”

“Sir, I’m serious, this is life-threatening, or something. You had an attack because you forgot your treatment, or something in the like. You can’t… You can’t just let yourself wither away like that. That’s good for _fucking nobody_.”

 

My harsh tone surprised the both of us. I hadn’t expected myself to turn so harsh on him, after all, I was trying to be the most understanding I could be. However, what had just happened had shocked me to my very core, robbing from me my patience for his zealousness, and I just wanted to slap him to bed. Maybe tie him up in it. Just force him to rest. He was up and running after whatever happened with his blood on the day before: this wasn’t okay, this was never okay, this would never be okay. Thoughts racing at eighty-eight miles an hour, my throat had knotted, out of anger and worry and fright.

“Justine…?”

“You heard me right! That’s what Mr Moinot and I’ve been exhausting ourselves to explain to you! You’re not alone, and you’re only human! You won’t last any much longer with that kind of mindset! This is pure and simple suicide! You think nobody noticed what happened yesterday?! You would be on bedrest if we weren’t so desperate for a substitute!”

My voice lowered, overtaken by a flow of seawater. He was taken aback, opened mouth, eyes swollen and eyebrows frowning.

“But you won’t stop your bullshit… It’s not even been a week, and you’re already breaking down… This won’t help anyone…”

 

His breathing had come back to something somewhat normal, but still feeble. More fright than actual damage, I supposed.

“I didn’t know you were hurting so much over it, Justine… By the way, thank you for getting my inhaler…”

“You don’t get it! This isn’t about me, for fuck’s sake!!”

He was clearly shaken by my rise in voice, and I could see him trying control his breathing.

“This isn’t about me, or what I’m feeling! It’s about you! Sir, you’re doing it all wrong! You’re meant to take breaks and lay down, not overdo it and get sick! One is enough! If you’ve realized how dumb Mr Moinot has been on that one, then you’re supposed not to do it! Don’t make… Don’t make us worried for two…”

 

My voice broke into a sigh. His shoulders dropped, and a sad, tiny smile appeared on his face.

“I get what you’re trying to say, Justine… This is very kind of you, but… I’m afraid I can’t give myself so much time. I tried, it just doesn’t come to me as natural or genuine… You’re twenty-nine. This is worth any of my energy.”

“Don’t… don’t push it too far, sir, please…”

“I understand your frustration, and Florian’s worries for me, but… I’ll be fine, I promise. I’ll do what I have to do. This is very important to me, and to you all. I have to bear everyone’s hopes on top of myself, you know?”


	7. Remember to Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard being the surrogate dad to your workaholic, easily anxious workmate. and friend, all the while you can finally go back to being a dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I thought I was really going to write a fluffy Florian chapter, to make up for all the angst from the previous two chapters.  
> Never mind, that chapter is filled to the brim with Frangst. It's still a Florian chapter tho, don't get mistaken.

The pneumonia had finally been beaten. I was able to breathe normally again, and the first thing I did once I was out of bed, fever gone and cough nowhere to be seen was to cough again… Annabelle told me not to overdo it as soon as I was out of illness: officially, I was still on bedrest for one or two days, and my lungs were still exhausted. My breathing was… weak, at best. I still coughed, albeit it was dry, whenever I exerted too much, even if it was at little extent.

The biggest worry we both had was the injury I had sustained in late 2015. It had been closed for a while, and I had been breathing more or less normally for a year, but even I was afraid it would make things even worse on top of my exhaustion. The hole may had made it a tiny bit harder: I, frankly, wouldn’t know the difference with “regular” pneumonia-induced dyspnoea.

 

I disobeyed bedrest as soon as I could get up. While I was actively ill, I controlled myself out of it, mostly for her sake (she was less worried if I was in a safe place, right?), not anymore. Thinking of Annabelle helped me endeavour the loneliness coming from the illness. I was thankful for her to catch me up on our son too, since I was explicitly forbidden from going near him.

How would I even describe hearing Olivier crying during that week? It was an atrocious experience to go through. I heard him scream for help, but I couldn’t do anything, to the point we had to hire a babysitter just because I was unable to do anything. What if he had a nightmare? What if he really needed someone, and she was away, and I was just there? I was terrified every time I heard even the smallest of whimpers, and every time Annabelle kept telling me it would be all right. Primal instincts.

She told me the first thing I had done after finally being able to get up was to go into his room and check up on him, too bad, the baby was asleep. I had passed out there, dozing over the crib, the mix between my snores (apparently, I still snored noisily even out of my illness) and his giggles amusing her. At least it relieved her, right?

 

This meant I could finally come back actively into a sphere I had tended to be away for: Chromas. The khâgne class. Sure, I had read and replied to Justine’s emails all along, but I merely skimmed through them most of the time, only picking select clues. All I knew was that she tremendously worried for François, that it kept getting worse and that François really didn’t know how to take care of himself.

I hadn’t really read his messages either: the first ones being a constant reminder that I needed to rest, right during the times I had fever spikes and coughed blood all over myself in an attempt to find a comfortable position, I had given up on these quickly. I should not had done so, and opening my phone for the first time seriously in days was almost as horrifying as hearing my baby son cry all alone.

 

Most messages I had gotten from François were actually not directed towards me. I guess my first name came right after someone important to him, because I clearly wasn’t his “sis”. If I had to guess, shoot in the dark, I would have said it was his older sister, not his younger one. If I recalled correctly, the guys had told me his older sister was looking for him, somewhat, or at least had troubles coming in contact with him. It seemed obvious to me she was worried, and he was just pretending to be fine.

How would I know he was pretending? Why was I so sure of it? It seemed like I had read Justine’s mails more than I thought I had, mails that stuck to my mind with how worrying they turned out to be. Some repetitions I could excuse on spam and mobile problems, some were just about François being so forgetful he would just repeat the same thing, twice, thrice, four, five, maybe six times towards the weekend. He wasn’t doing as well as he pretended to, that was for certain, but did that surprise anyone? I was, sadly, not that impressed.

 

François was, undeniably, a bad liar. His façade matched him because he was one of the sweetest persons I had ever met, but that was its limit. François was, at his core, a very earnest man: he couldn’t lie to the end, and somewhere in the middle of lying through his teeth, he would just end up slipping up and let his true feelings show their darker side. The only moments he would ever confess to feeling any less than “good, don’t worry for me” were when he would be too ill to hold back his tears.

His brand of deception was soft, if not sweet. As if he was trying to lie to himself before tricking us into thinking he was all good. Maybe, through this, he just wanted to see if someone cared for him. Through his text messages, I could see he insisted on his family to know he loved them. Maybe he wanted to get in return the confirmation they loved him too. Sadly, these messages would never reach them.

The shallow waters of his condition made it so they landed, damaged, to my shores. My burning then freezing shores.

 

“Sis? I dunno how I feel about the sub thing. I’m not doing so hot already…”

“I wonder if I’m coming down with something”

“A student told me I looked like shit, somewhat. I guess she’s right, she wouldn’t lie to me”

“Her name’s Justine, I think. She’s honest, maybe too much, but that’s what Théo kept telling me”

“You think he’s angry at me? I’m sure Justine keeps telling him stuff I won’t tell him.”

“Justine’s nice, I guess, she’s just too honest, probably”

“He needs to rest and not worry for me, you don’t think? Doesn’t deserve to be bothered with my self-care habits”

“Why don’t you reply? You’re busy, right? I’m sorry…”

“They used to tell me I was that annoying next-door boy, guess I’m that”

“Yeah, you’re busy, and I guess I have time to kill with that headache of mine; that sucks so bad”

“Florian, how you’re doing? Hope everything’s good on your side”

“How are the kids? Can you say them hello from their uncle?”

“I shouldn’t bother you when you’re so close to due”

“Pneumonia sucks, right? I’m sure you can pull thru it anyway!”

“Florian somehow knows about Edith, I’m horrified… That can’t be happening”

“Sis?”

“Sis, I love you”

“I feel like I’m sending these messages in the void”

 

Then I received a message, straight onto my phone.

“Wait, that’s Florian! I’m sorry! These were meant for my sister, not you! Ah, sorry, that’s awkward…”

“Why, hello, François. I did guess these weren’t for me, in case you doubted the fact you never call me “sis” aside from that mess.”

“Haha… Oh, right, how you’re doing? Heard you were finally off bedrest”

“That’s exact. I’m even surprised you remembered this, considering your mind seems to be elsewhere altogether.”

“I would have said what Justine often tells me, that she always remembers the wrong stuff, but I wouldn’t call that wrong stuff”

“I appreciate you caring for me, but shouldn’t you rest, if you have time to text me? This seems pretty counter-productive of you.”

“Guess you heard of my shitty work habits, huh…. That’s funny, I can’t focus on anything today. Maybe I should go to bed”

“François... How long have you slept last night?”

“Can’t remember. Think I didn’t, actually”

 

I think flames just ignited inside of me. I pressed “Call” on my phone’s screen, running out of Olivier’s bedroom to join my workspace.

“W-why the sudden call?!” he yelled from the other side of the line.

“François, what the hell are you doing?! Are pulling all-nighters now?!”

“I-I just not sleep! Not that easy, y’know!”

“You can’t even speak proper French anymore, François. You have to head to bed now, or you’ll be ruined for days to come. If not for me, if not for you, think of the students. They need you to be up and running.”

“That’s true, but… But I can’t stop, for some stupid reason! Florian, I’m going insane! It’s like that shit’s a drug!”

“Calm down, please calm down… Just listen to me for a while, ok? I promise you’ll be all right.”

“You can talk! Do I have to remind you you’re the one whose fault it is?!”

 

A knot formed inside my throat. He… wasn’t wrong. I was the reason why this had all started in the first place. My carelessness was the reason everything had gone so bad for him and for them. I couldn’t really blame him for getting upset and suddenly letting everything out, but at the same time, I was so taken aback I didn’t know what to tell him.

“I…”

“I’ll tell you the same I told Justine. I don’t want your excuses: I don’t need them. They’re not helping anything. The difference is that Justine didn’t throw me into that mess. By the way… Have you even replied to her, at all? She implied you gave her generic answers as if you didn’t give a shit.”

“No, that’s not it! I…” my voice already felt tired. “I skimmed through them and just wanted to tell her I was grateful for her to send me information… Something you wouldn’t do, shall I add.”

“Oh, don’t give me that crap! Don’t blame on me your mistakes! Do I sound like I’m doing that?!”

“You do, François… You’re blaming on my workaholic habits your own workaholism.”

 

I just heard something like a gasp from the other side of the phone. My acting skills were better than I had thought, if I had managed to make it sound like I wasn’t actively blaming myself for his awful condition.

“Listen, I’m certain you’re beyond angry at me, and I understand your frustration. This doesn’t mean you should close in on yourself. You already sound exhausted, I can’t help but worry for you. So, let me ask you this: how are things going?”

“Fine,” he insists with a trembling voice.

“François, don’t be a child, please. I know things aren’t ‘fine’.”

 

Silence, then some faint whimpers arrived in my ear. I felt a heartstring shake violently.

“Florian, I… I’m sorry, I’m doing everything wrong lately… I can’t focus, I’m snapping at everyone, my students worry for me when it should be the other way around… I’m so overwhelmed, I don’t know what I can even do anymore to make it all fine! I can’t already be reaching my limits! I… I…”

“François…”

“I… I don’t want to… I don’t want to disappoint anyone… You need to… To rest… Why…Why…”

“François!” I took a sharper tone.

“Why am I like that…?! I… I got to be strong, for you… for them… for everyone…!” he coughed, he gasped, “y’all trusting me… I can’t… I can’t disappoint anyone today… I… I don’t care if… if it means…”

“For the love of God, François, would you listen to me?!”

 

He stopped, completely, but as I thought, he was still heavily wheezing.

“Wh…”

“Don’t speak. Hang up. You need to rest.”

“I… I know that…”

“Stop speaking! You triggered your asthma, isn’t that enough for you to know you’re panicking? You’re too anxious at the moment, you need to let go for a day. It’s Saturday, why not enjoy a nice, calm evening?”

“…I saw Justine earlier today.”

 

Now that was surprising.

“So you did go outside!” I reacted, a bit relieved for his sanity. “I’m surprised she was in Arras for the weekend.”

“Yeah, same… I didn’t see her at the beginning, but she was there, browsing for stuff with a first-year student… Then we went to a café and discussed some stuff…”

“That’s right, I think she sent me something about it. You really need to focus on yourself, François. You can’t always worry for others when you’re yourself in a dire need for care.”

“That’s more or less what she told me… I guess you’re both right. Haha… Guess it’s never too late to learn, right?”

“Happy birthday, François.”

 

A soft laugh escaped from his phone.

“Heh… Thank you, Florian. Didn’t think you would remember it.”

“Just a reminder you still have decades in front of you, would you truly care for your mind and body. Don’t rush it too badly.”

“What was that horse proverb you say from time to time already? Yeah, that.”

I chuckled. “I’m glad to hear you still have enough memory to remember my proverbs, albeit vaguely. I’ll have to leave you, my son’s calling for me and I think you deserve a good night of rest.”

“Florian, it’s seven in the evening.”

“Don’t tell me you’re not dead tired already.”

“You’re not wrong. See ya soon!”

With a small smile, I pressed the “End Call” button on my screen and put the phone away in my pants’ pocket.

 

Going back to Olivier’s crib, I hold him in my arms again, still thinking of how my workmate was doing. Maybe I was trying to calm him down mindlessly, because all I got in return were cries. Lesson learnt again: when taking care of a child, entirely focus on the child, otherwise it won’t work, and your ears may bleed from the screams. I nailed it as soon as I devoted all my thought process to Olivier, so this wouldn’t happen again.

In a part of my mind, I wondered if it wasn’t better for me to be the father and not the mother. I didn’t have the wrong constitution for it, after all. However, I saw in François all I was doing wrong with my own body: sleep deprivation, overwork, insist even when I knew I was reaching my weak points. The hole in my chest was his asthma.

And the least I thought about _that_ part of me, the better I was doing.

 

I still felt tired, and I could see Annabelle insist on me dropping our son back to his bed so I could join back ours. I delicately put him back in, and made my way to our room after making sure he was asleep.

“I heard you yell on the phone. Were you calling François?” she asked as I lay down.

“How do you know? I’m usually not that aggressive.”

“You sounded more worried than angry, darling. You never truly sound angry.”

“Do I? I always sound better than I actually am when I hear you speak about me, you know, Annie.”

“You will never trick me into thinking you could be mean on purpose or get out of control. You cannot be harsh, even if I am certain you are beyond worried for this poor boy.”

“I guess you’re right…”

 

Later in the evening, as I was half-asleep, I felt a hand gently touch my shoulder and put the blanket on me correctly.

“You got so worked up for François, you forgot to sleep. May you never change, Florian.”


End file.
